


memories of times gone by

by angelheartbeat



Series: fuck it ill do it myself [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bruce Banner Angst, Bruce Banner Feels, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Bruce Banner-centric, Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Murder, Past Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 09:52:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14258388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheartbeat/pseuds/angelheartbeat
Summary: The Revengers are celebrating, and when Thor drinks a little too much he tends to get violent. He'd never hurt anyone, but..Drunken violence hits a little too close to home for Bruce.





	memories of times gone by

**Author's Note:**

> this is for leg bc she promised me an edit if i wrote her angst  
> why do people seek pain  
> ily darleg
> 
> why do none of my fics correlate in any gotdamn way? who knows dont ask me karen

"What'll everyone be having?"

Valkyrie grins at them all over the top of the bar, hands planted squarely down atop the gilded surface. Bruce, Loki and Thor sit on the other side, Asgardians passing through the room and bowing to the Revengers from time to time.

They had won, and they were heading to Midgard, so, naturally, they were celebrating.

With drinks, because this was Valkyrie.

"Anythings fine," Loki says casually, and Bruce is pretty sure he was examining his nails, so either he was intimately familiar with Sakaarian liquor, or he just didn't give a shit.

Thor thumps the bar, pleased to have a reason to celebrate again. "Bring on the strongest you've got!" he roars, and Bruce is happy to see him so upbeat again. Since the burden of kingship had fallen on his shoulders, he has been much less the cheerful puppy dog Bruce loved.

"Anything non-alcoholic behind there, Val?" Bruce asks tentatively. He and alcohol didn't have an excellent relationship, and he'd rather not have any unless it was expressly necessary, especially after the Hulk had taken over for so long, and then again barely afterwards. It was a miracle that "puny Banner" had been given his body back at all.

And there was another reason, too, repressed beyond belief but there, a lurking presence just like the Hulk.

"Uh... don't think so, little guy." Val says, making a face that Bruce can't quite interpret, and he smiles tightly.

"Thats fine. I'll chaperone. Probably not a good idea for a human to drink alien alcohol, either." And a weak little chuckle.

Once drinks are mixed and poured and glasses are clinked, the Revengers start to drink each other under the table. Loki is seemingly a lightweight, tapping out after a couple of bottles were empty and leaning on Bruce, breath heavy with the stench of liquor. It makes Bruce feel nauseous.

The heavily-repressed reason starts to heave itself out of the hole Bruce has created for it in his mind, shaking off everything Bruce has piled atop it in a weak attempt to make it disappear. 

Thor and Val have stronger stomachs and an unspoken competition seems to unfold between them, eye contact crackling with electricity (Bruce chuckles dryly at the pun) as they drank. He even starts to feel like a bit of a third wheel to his own boyfriend, which is just excellent for his nonexistent self-esteem.

And then, after a fair few drinks, it actually starts to affect them, and it affected them hard and fast - Bruce felt like there wasn't such a thing as  _tipsy_ for Asgardians.

Bruce has never seen Thor drunk before - there had never been enough alcohol around to affect him, especially with the weakness of Earth alcohol.

But there was the god, fingers crackling with barely held back lightning, slamming his fist down on the table and growling in anger about the loss of his hammer, his hair, anything he could think of. His remaining eye blazed in anger, and the cheer was seeping out of him more and more, the more worked up he got.

Bruce's chest feels tighter the more he watches. The reason crawls closer and closer to the forefront of his mind, demanding his attention, craving his every thought, reminding him of just why his hands shook so violently when he smelt the alcohol on Thor's breath as he yelled-

_And suddenly he is six years old again._

_Theres a mess of black curls atop his head, and his hands are shaking, hard. He's curled up into the corner of his room, trying hard to stifle the sounds of his tears, hearing the stomps of his father pounding up the stairs, yelling about his freak of a kid, how his genes are mutated and worthless, fucking no-good little shit-_

"Bruce?"

"Banner, are you okay?"

He doesn't realise hes crying, memories he'd hidden from himself for as long as he could washing over him, consuming his every thought.

_He's eight, and hiding the bruises on his arms from prying teachers, bruises from every time his father flew into a rage, bruises scattering his body and turning him into a blotchy, pale, purple-streaked monster._

_He's four, and everything is blurry, poorly-remembered by his own child brain, but nothing ever hurt more than his structure being smashed, his tiny body being struck, the admission that he had been unwanted._

"Banner!"

The smell of alcohol is thick and he can't stop hyperventilating, everythings moving so fast and he's curling up into a ball because he needs to protect himself from the flying fists, don't cover your ears to protect yourself from the incoming verbal torrent because then he'll be angrier, let it happen let it happen let it happen

_He's ten, and watching as his parents struggle, screaming that he'll be good, he promises, just let mommy go, let her go, let her go, they were so close to getting away-_

_He's ten, and watches in horror, through a film of tears, as his mothers skull smashes open on the concrete, blood seeping everywhere. He's ten, leaping out of the car and standing, frozen, beside her body, smelling nothing but blood and booze, hearing nothing but the ringing in his ears and the final scream of his mother._

_Hes ten, and testifying that his father never hurt him or his mother, under fear of his father himself. He's ten, and nothing has been the same since **that**. He's ten, and nothing in his life has ever scared him more than Brian Banner. He's ten, and he doesnt think his ears have stopped ringing since his mothers death._

He's forty-eight, and he doesn't think his ears have stopped ringing since his mothers death. 

The wave of trauma slows down just a tad, enough for him to catch his bearings. Hes on the ground, hyperventilating, tears streaming down his cheeks more freely than they had in years. 

Loki is staring at him in horror, swaying slightly on his barstool. Val is knelt by him, face twisted in concern, and Thor, breath stinking of alcohol, is by his side, rubbing his back in what is clearly meant to be a comforting gesture, but Bruce can't handle that right now - those fists were full of anger and rage just a second ago, they could turn at any second, his body feels like its covered with bruises again, hes a child, hes a child-

And it suddenly feels like someones dunked his head in ice cold water, and his breath catches in his throat, and then, finally, mercifully, begins to slow. Thor's hand on his side slows and stops as he begins to shudder, holding back choking sobs.

He can't even look up but he hears Thor whisper, and sees him gesture out of the corner of his eye. Theres footsteps, and doors shutting, and hes pretty sure Loki and Val left.

"Suns getting real low, Banner," Thor says in a deep, comforting voice, husky with liquor. Bruce wants to scream at him to _stop saying that, I'm not going to hulk out, in fact my mind is so consumed with the memories of my father that I cant even sense the Hulk at the moment, but you probably just see me as the exact same freak dear old Dad did!_

But he can't find the right part of his brain to make his mouth work, so he's stuck with his choking sobs, hands clenching and unclenching, into fists and back again.

"Breathe, Banner, breathe," the god continues to urge, but Bruce can barely hear his boyfriend over the surging ringing in his ears, drowning out anything else. His mouth won't make words.

_"Pathetic little shit! I never wanted you anyway, don't you know that by now?"_

_"Go get me a beer, you little shitface. Go on, get." And a shove, aggravating bruises and sending a jolt of pain through his child-sized shoulders, shaking and shivering with fear, stumbling over himself in the attempt to fulfil the request._

_He didn't think he'd spoken since his mother died, and it had been weeks._

Its a long time before Bruce manages to catch his breath.

The memories retreat, skulking behind a layer of  _oh god, oh god, Thor's seeing me have a panic attack, thats never happened before, don't hulk out, don't hulk out-_

"Banner?"

Thor's voice is soft, and Bruce marvels at how quickly he seems to have sobered up, having been violent and angry just a few moments before. Moments or minutes? It was hard to tell how long he had been freaking out.

Thats when it sinks in that hes on his hands and knees on the floor, Thor's hand on his back. His face is hot and covered in both tears and sweat, and once he can think clearly enough to he flips over suddenly and without warning, making Thor jump.

"What happened?" he whispers, voice hoarse. It feels like how he feels after he hulks out, exhausted, sweaty and somehow hot and cold at the same time. Its so familiar a shot of fear runs through him. "I didn't hulk out, did I?"

"I think... you were close to it." Thor says, voice still soft, clearly trying not to startle him. "You were half changing between yourself and the Hulk."

Bruce glances down and realises that yeah, his shirts kinda torn. "Oh, god," he groans, wiping his forehead and running a hand through his thinning hair - which is weird because he could have sworn that just a few moments ago his hair was a massive mess of black curls that fell into his eyes. "I'm so sorry," he whispers, almost too quietly for Thor to hear. 

"What?" He sounds taken aback at Bruce's apology.

"I'm so sorry you had to see that, I, I just, oh go-"

"Banner, you have no need to apologise. Are you... are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm, I'm-" He attempts to get up and his head spins, making him stumble back down onto his ass and groan, his stomach flipping. "Yeah, no, I'm not. Gimme a minute."

"You don't have to try and get up, Banner, just try and breathe."

"Ok, this is going to sound rude, but could you maybe not breathe on me so much? Your breath stinks of alcohol and alcohol generally means not good shit for me, so..."

Thor looks surprised, eyebrows shooting up and remaining eye widened. "I apologize, Banner. Bruce. I forgot your aversion to liquor."

"Yeah, its... its cool." Bruce can't stop thinking about the smell, though, and Thor's clenched fists. He can't tell whether he wants to be alone or grab Thor tight and never let go.

No, he does know what he wants. He wants his mother back. Hes barely even seen photos of her for thirty-eight years.

And then something even worse drags itself out of his subconsciousness, awakens from twenty-three years of repression.

Bruce grabs at Thor's shoulder, his chest, anything, attempting to ground himself. "I killed my dad," he whispers, admitting it to both himself and Thor, who recoils in shock.

"What?"

"I killed him, Thor, I fucking... it was the anniversary of mom dying and we were at her grave and we were fighting and I didn't mean to but I fucking.... his head smashed open I'm no better than him he killed mom and I killed him and I-" Bruce cuts himself off, choked up with tears and snot and panic and rage and twenty three year old memories that he hasnt thought about since they happened, convincing himself that no, they just fought, he was killed by muggers, he's better than Brian Banner, he is, he is he is he is he is a murderer.

Thor grabs his shoulders, looking him hard in the eyes and talking with sudden gravity and conviction. "Banner. Breathe. That is the past. There is nothing you can do about it now. Right now you just need to breathe for me."

Bruce clings to the words, grasps at them, grounds himself and nods furiously, trying to fight past the rising nausea and just focus on what Thor was saying. He was trying to help.

"You do not have to tell me what happened, I just need you to calm down. You can work through these feelings later."

"Okay. Okay. I feel like I'm going to throw up. Okay. Your breath stinks."

Thor covers his mouth, eye softening in apology. "I apologize." He squeezes Bruce's shoulder and continues looking him in the eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I, I, hold on-"

Bruce turns to the side and retches a couple times before vomiting on the floor, making a face and coughing, wiping his mouth, and his eyes while he's at it.

He doesn't turn back, and after a moment Thor pulls him into a hug, and allows him to start shaking with tears again.

"Shhh, shhh, its okay," Thor whispers into his hair, as Bruce shivers and shudders in his arms. "Its okay. Its okay."

Its not okay. Bruce knows its not okay, and he's sure Thor knows it too. It hasnt been okay for forty-eight years. Its never been okay.

And he doesn't know if he'll ever be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> oh fun  
> the ages are all approximations i couldnt find any specific ages 
> 
> leave comments before sans undertale fucking kil-


End file.
